


Ready For Anything

by Britpacker



Series: Making It Real [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, PWP, Risk-taking, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Captain’s unavoidably detained: the Commander and the Lieutenant are stuck in the ready room.  Trip’s bored.  It’s inevitable, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready For Anything

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, no beta and no profit for me. I wouldn't want any, because that would make this a job rather than a pleasure - honest! No spoilers as such, but there's a small reference to 2.04 "Dead Stop".
> 
> Another transfer rom Warp 5 Complex - I'm struggling to figure out how to transfer multi-chapter fics, but I'll get there!

Trip glared at the chronometer for the fifth time in a minute. “It’s not movin’,” he grumbled.

“That’s because it doesn’t count the seconds, _Sir_.” Malcolm replied without glancing up from the floor. “And stop shuffling! You’ll be making the deck plating squeak again, and you know he hates that.”

“Hey, let him ask for a refund on our warp plasma payment! The station was s’posed to have fixed that.”

“I sincerely hope that nasty computerised brain-drainer is scattered in tiny pieces across two quadrants! What’s keeping the captain, anyway? I thought the shuttle was aboard.”

As if in answer to the Armoury Officer’s petulant question the comm. sizzled into strident life. “Archer to the ready room.”

Tucker stretched over his companion to slap the wall mounted unit. “We’re right here, Cap’n. What’s the problem?”

Exasperation cut clean through the slight tinny distortion. “Phlox insists we run a cycle in Decon. There’s Endolian Flu in the colony, and he doesn’t believe he Governor’s claim that his household staff have been completely quarantined. He’s downloading the data from Sickbay, so why don’t the two of you check it out while I’m trapped in here?”

“It’s for your own good, Captain.” Phlox’s determinedly cheery voice carried smoothly over Archer’s grunt and the startled mew of his fellow captive. “You’d never forgive yourself if a single crewman was infected; and this particular strain is notoriously resistant to treatment. Half an hour’s delay won’t jeopardise the trade as much as an epidemic sweeping the ship, will it?”

“Doc’s right, Cap’n.” Trip understood his friend’s eagerness to get started; to tie up the formalities and start the serious business of _boldly going_ and all that jazz. Maybe Jon was right: he really was spending too much time with Malcolm if he was starting to take the pragmatic approach.

“The data should be coming through to you now, Commander.” The Denobulan sounded way too smug and Trip grinned, envisaging how Johnny would make him pay for it after. “Sickbay out.”

“Hmmmph.”

The harrumph of displeasure drew the engineer’s attention away from the comm. to the slender brunet leaning against the captain’s overcrowded desk, narrow stormcloud stare riveted to the data scrolling across the bright monitor. Although it would take just a single stride to bring him up behind the Englishman’s shoulder, Trip Tucker made no move.

Engrossed in the detailed mineralogical report, it took Reed a moment to register his senior officer’s undutiful inactivity. “Commander? We’re supposed to be looking over this planet’s trading potential,” he pointed out with a glance back.

Tucker’s well-formed lips parted in a slow smile that seemed to flood the boxy office with light. “Ah prefer lookin’ over you, Lootenant.”

Colour crawled over the chiselled peaks of the Englishman’s cheekbones. “Idiot,” he muttered, dropping his head. Giving his own a shake in the vain hope of clearing the sensual fog around it, Trip loomed up and in, deliberately invading his boyfriend’s jealously-guarded personal space.

It was a risk, but one he was glad of taking. If he hadn’t, he would never have caught the faint tremor that ran through the man’s exquisite body. “We’re _supposed_ to be on duty.”

“No, we’re supposed to be discussin’ the chances of a decent trade with the cap’n. And we can’t, ‘cause he’s not here.” Hands that remained lightly tanned despite months without sight of the sun slithered delicately over Malcolm’s shoulders, angling toward his jumpsuit’s zipper. Blunt fingertips played, apparently aimless, with the toggle. The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward against Archer’s overloaded desk.

“Commander, this is completely inappropriate,” he murmured, the illicit thrill he was feeling betrayed by the drop of his ridiculously long eyelashes. Encouraged, Trip pressed his growing erection into the younger man’s tightly rounded ass.

“Tell me it don’t feel good,” he challenged, blowing the words against the sensitive shell of his lover’s ear and winning another delicious full-body shiver. Gently teething the delicate lobe he dropped one hand to Reed’s waist, pulling him flush against the hardness tenting his pants. “We’re all alone in here, Malcolm.”

“With Miss Miracle-Ears and the rest of the bridge crew on the other side of the door. Oh!”

“Close enough to hear you moan and guess what I’m doin’ to ya.” Circling his hips, Tucker ran his free hand up the middle of his lover’s chest, snagging the coverall’s fastening and smoothly drawing it down. One finger, then another, worked beneath the Englishman’s black shirt, making the taut muscles of his abdomen contract sharply. Chills of anticipation raced through Trip as he savoured the speed with which his sedate Malcolm heated up at his touch. “Real dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” His body had begun to move of its own volition, Reed realised vaguely, arching itself back against the insistent pressure from its mate. Heat swirled in his belly and when Trip gave a subtle tug at the waist to bring him around, fully into the circle of that loving embrace, he could not resist.

“Anyone could walk in and see us,” the blond rumbled against his parted lips, the indecent prospect rolling over Malcolm’s tongue and down to heat up the inferno in his groin another notch. “See you with your hair all mussed an’ your eyes half-closed, pushin’ up against my body like it’s the only thing you need.”

_As if it isn’t_ , Malcolm thought briefly before those firm, demanding lips found a better activity than speech, and conscious cogitation was blotted out altogether.

His arms lifted to wrap around his boyfriend’s shoulders and he pushed himself onto tiptoes, jamming the tight ridge of his arousal against the Southerner’s powerful thigh and starting to ride, biting down hard onto his tongue to stop the moan working its way up from his gut when Trip’s mouth abandoned his for the tempting territory at the base of his throat. His black undershirt was gaping, his coverall bunched around his ankles. When had that happened?

And why the hell did he care?

“C’mon darlin’.” Trip’s words emerged slurred between pants, evidence the engineer was incredibly excited. Malcolm forced his eyes to open, unbearably turned on by the passion-flushed beauty of his fully clothed partner.

_Hmm, I do so prefer him naked._

Reality loomed like an imminent storm and he tensed, the flex of every tiny muscle plain under his bare skin. “We can’t – not here. The Captain…”

“Is in decon.” The feeble protest wouldn’t have fooled Porthos, not even with cheddar being waved as a distraction. “Jus’ don’t holler like y’ usually do an’ we’ll be fine.”

“I do not holl – oooh!”

“Easy there, lootenant.” Cradling his lover, Trip muffled the startled moan against his chest. “You know you want this, Malcolm. You’re the one dreams of bendin’ me over the helm and to hell with Travis bein’ sat there, yeah?”

He more felt than heard the younger man’s grated response, the words vibrating through three layers of cloth. “Should never have – told you!”

Giddy with a potent mix of lust and outraged propriety Reed was putty in his lover’s skilled hands, allowing Tucker to heft him onto the edge of the captain’s desk, his legs dangling like a small boy’s as his penis reared, florid and dripping. Sinking down, Trip paused to blow a reverent breath across the hyper-sensitive head, his lips twitching at the way Malcolm balled a hand into his mouth, letting his head drop back against the monitor. They both wanted – needed – this. Now

The Brit knuckled his mouth hard as wet satin engulfed his cock, his hips bucking instinctively against the gentle restraint of a single hand. The ready room, the bridge beyond, the imminent return of the captain, they all melted from his consciousness. He was vaguely aware of the need to mute his rising pleasure but if anyone had interrupted to ask, he couldn’t have remembered why.

Kittenish licks to his most sensitive places mingled with deep pulls that dragged him up against the back of Trip’s busy throat. Malcolm squirmed, sending a single PADD clattering to the deck. T’Pol’s sharp ear might have caught the sound and briefly the kneeling Southerner stilled, earning a pained mew that leaked over Malcolm’s fist. His own erection pulsed, the prospect of discovery a potent stimulus to his libido.

Did he secretly _want_ to be caught sucking off his gorgeous lover in the boss’s office? Trip gave his head a small shake that won another whimpering sigh. _Maybe you should worry what that says about you later._

Malcolm’s free hand had snagged in his hair, graceful fingers clenching reflexively, tugging the short blond strands as he arched off the cold desk into volcanic heat. Carefully, Trip slicked up a finger with saliva, feathering the tip around his lover’s hidden opening.

The Englishman’s squeak echoed around the tiny room like a trumpet fanfare. The hand around his hipbone tightened painfully.

Worse still, the deep, sweet suction stopped.

It was, Tucker decided, tough to lick even the sweetest dick in the middle of a cardiac arrest. Then the slippery head bumped the back of his throat, and his heart kick-started. Nobody was coming.

_Well, nobody except Malcolm._

The hand at his mouth fell limp as the rest of his body stiffened, his mouth falling into a perfect _O_ of soundless pleasure as they swept him: deep, powerful contractions that pulsed liquid heat out through his whole body. Trip glugged greedily, his shuttered stare focussed on the otherworldly beauty of his beloved at climax, arching as if to ride ecstasy’s wave. He barely tasted the bitterness of semen; wouldn’t have noticed if the sheer volume of his lover’s release risked choking him. His cock strained hard against the confines of his underwear. _Dear God, he’s magnificent!_

For several seconds the only sound was ragged breathing as Malcolm struggled through the enveloping haze of satisfaction to gaze dopily at the man between his thighs. Lasciviously, Trip smacked the last glistening drops from his lips, lightly running his hands up the tautly-muscled legs.

He could have lolled against the captain’s monitor with those callused palms sending pleasant tingles into his muscles forever. Heavy eyes drifted shut.

Muffled voices leeched beneath the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. “Shit!”

He half-fell off the desk, inadvertently kicking that displaced PADD under Archer’s chair as Trip clawed the uniform scrunched around his feet. Hands clashed and curses bounced one off the other as they struggled with wayward shirt fabric and unyielding zips, and all the time the rumbling baritone of Jonathan Archer was getting closer, the words more defined over T’Pol’s fluted soprano. “You hair’s a mess,” Reed hissed, mussing his own in a sightless attempt to straighten it. Trip brushed his hand away.

“Let me.”

He had to hand it to the guy: even visibly dazed from his orgasm Malcolm took a hint faster than an Andorian grabbed his ale, smoothing his lover’s spiked blond hair with swift, efficient strokes. Deftly retrieving the fallen PADD, Commander Tucker leaned over the shoulder of Lieutenant Reed and devoted his full attention to the tedious list of available minerals gleaming on the captain’s monitor.

“Trip, Malcolm, sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Don’t mention it, Cap’n.” With a breezy grin, Trip shuffled sideways to grant his friend access to the chair, adroitly keeping his undeflated state concealed by the junior officer’s body and trying (unsuccessfully if his lover’s flaring nostrils were a guide) to minimise his pained shuffling. “They got some interestin’ compounds on offer, the Jansili.”

Archer beamed. “I thought you’d appreciate their generosity, Trip. Malcolm, didn’t you tell me once that coarse grains of isonium would scour the residue inside the cannons?”

“Yes, Sir” As the three men shifted to study the screen, the Armoury Office risked a compassionate smile over his C.O.’s shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you,” he mouthed, letting his line of sight drop to his lover’s crotch.

All of a sudden paying attention to Johnny’s burbling wasn’t so tough. Everybody aboard knew, after all, that Malcolm Reed would honour his promises. To the letter.

It was going to be one hell of a night.


End file.
